I was velvet
under grounding beneath the sine curve
walking on the wild side
on orgasm prowl

so much
suppressed intensity that I feared
hubcaps of parked ordinance would
all go poltergeist

me of the epicenter
of so much collateral damage
pockets full of
lost chords, failed dreams, never-
to-be LP covers
and all
my cries that you
hype me, gloss me, sprinkle me
with stardust falling upon deaf ears

and thus no neon fifteen minutes
Mr Warhol, Professor McLuhan,
no ready source of
income
money jangling in my circuits
(supply and demand) like
so many tin demons

price of
perfect fix and New York
Doll makeover (gold
in my veins and
all the alchemy to source them).